Evensong

‘Love is a phoenix that will revive its own ashes’ – Thomas Traherne

September, and the orchard sags with prayer: Strip the Fruit of Sin! Reap! Reap! Wye lifts lime, spins pools of silt at the tip Of fields and it is late, late, late, oh priest Hurry on! Sing, O miserable offender, Within thy walls of stone. Hurry on, Witness His truth: Glory is not a word, God is, God is Neither noun nor verb, but shears laden fields, He reapeth where he doth not sow.

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